


Chaff and Grain Together

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Caretaking, Common Cold, F/M, Gentleness, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most amazing and wonderful of detectives can be laid low by a cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chaff and Grain Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



> For Dee, who wished for “lovey-dovey, mushy, him-taking-care-of-her fluff.” *Internet hugs* Not-quite-a-sequel to [Safeguards](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4745759), but eh, close enough. :)

  
_Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away._  
_– Dinah Craik_  


“Jack, I’m perfectly fine—”

“No,” he said, gently but firmly, “you are not. You’re pale—”

“Thank you, I’m very proud of my complexion.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Well, that’s just the effect of being in your ravishing presence, Inspector.”

He tipped his head and glared at her fondly. “There’s no point in trying to vamp me tonight, Phryne.” He caught her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re feverish.” His thumbs stroked carefully at her throat. “Nothing swollen yet, but you sound like an old cigar smoker. And…” He pulled his head back an inch or two. “You need to blow your nose.”

She huffed in irritation and snatched the handkerchief he offered her. “All I need is a stiff drink and a hot bath.” The thought was somewhat appealing, even if the idea of going back to a house bereft of both Dot, who was busy with a new baby, and Mr. Butler, who was on holiday, was not. “I’ll be right as rain by morning!”

“What you _need_ ,” Jack corrected her, in his most reasonable manner, “is hot soup, hot tea, aspirin, and sleep. And to not even think of getting out of bed in the morning, unless it’s to go and see Dr. MacMillan.”

“Oh for pity’s sake, Jack, you’re acting like I’ve got influenza rather than a pointless and annoying little head-cold. Still,” she added, with a little smile, “it’s rather sweet to see you worrying about my health rather than my driving, for a change.”

“I have a laundry list of things to worry about, where you’re concerned,” he said solemnly. “So I need to rotate them, otherwise I wear out my arguments.” He rose from his desk and got his hat and coat. “Let’s go.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Home.”

When Jack said ‘home’ in that tone of voice, he meant his own home. “You’re that worried about me?”

“Always,” said Jack dryly. But his eyes were soft.

By the time they arrived at Jack’s little bungalow in Richmond, Phryne knew his mother-hen act had not been for nothing. Her sinuses were so congested she could barely breathe, and the pressure in her head was awful. Jack helped her out of the car and escorted her up the front walk as though they had just come in from a big night out; that is, very carefully. 

“You seem suspiciously well-practiced at helping compromised young ladies into your house, Detective-Inspector,” she commented, letting him take her coat and making a beeline for the overstuffed sofa in his living room. “Was Rosie prone to head colds, or are you secretly running a clinic out of your home?”

Jack smiled. “Neither. But Rosie _does_ have a number of nieces and nephews who were very often sent to us when they were younger. Her sister’s kids,” he clarified. “At that age, the little buggers pick up everything under the sun, and Rosie’s brother-in-law has a very weak constitution. If he catches a cold, he runs the risk of it turning into pneumonia. So Phoebe would send the children here.” He plucked an afghan from the back of the sofa and tucked it round Phryne’s shoulders. “I got very good at taking care of colds.”

She looked up at him with a wry expression. “Thank you for not saying, ‘at taking care of sick little girls.’”

“God, no. The girls were holy terrors when they were sick. Always insisted that they were fine. I preferred that to the boys, though, who did the exact opposite and insisted they must be dying.” Grinning at the memory, Jack brushed a lock of Phryne’s short black hair from her face and kissed it. “As hot a bath as you can stand it, and then tea, soup, and toast.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Robinson,” Phryne sighed, never wanting his hand to stop cradling her head. 

He ran the bath for her, and then simply picked her up from the couch and carried her into the bathroom, and steadied her while she divested herself of skirt and blouse and shrug, shoes and stockings and camiknickers. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to put me in that tub yourself?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Jack blinked, and then chuckled. “At least I know if you can flirt, you’re not _too_ sick.” But he obliged her with an arm about her shoulders and an arm behind her knees. He lifted her up and carried her the three feet to the bathtub. 

Before he lowered her into the water, Phryne wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Jack,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his cheekbone. 

“No thanks needed, Phryne,” he replied, just as quietly. “Try to relax. I’ll have supper ready for you soon.” He closed the door behind him as he left, to keep the steam in. 

Phryne sank down until only her nose and mouth extended above the water-line. She _ached_ , although whether that was from the cold or from the punch-up she’d gotten herself into earlier that evening, she wasn’t certain. Thankfully her heavy coat had kept away most of the ruffian’s blows, but there were a few tender spots about her ribs and breasts that she was sure were going to be magnificently coloured in a day or two. And much as she hated to admit it… she’d needed this. Not just the hot bath, that had been on her agenda for the evening since waking up. But a night of good old-fashioned pampering was something she’d not been able to indulge in for a very long time. 

And the fact that it was Jack insisting on the pampering only made it better. 

The water was barely beginning to cool when he poked his head back into the bathroom. “Soup’s on. You ready to get out?”

“Mmm… if I must.” She held out her hand.

He came in with a set of his blue-and-white striped flannel pajamas and helped her out of the tub. “I know you’ve got some of your things here now,” he said, by way of explanation, “but none of them are especially… substantial.”

“That’s because they’re not meant to be worn for very long, Jack darling,” Phryne tried to purr, but ended up coughing. 

“Easy,” he soothed, rubbing her back. “Let’s get you into these, hmm?”

As usual, his pajamas were enormous on her, especially round the waist, but they rolled up the cuffs of the arms and legs, and as she didn’t plan on leaving the house, it would have to do. 

Phryne followed him into the kitchen, which was warm and homelike, and there was soup steaming gently on the stove, although she couldn’t smell it. Jack coaxed her into a chair and served her chicken broth and tea, and toasted bread. “Not the most elegant meal I’ve ever made for you,” he joked. 

“But a highly appreciated one,” Phryne replied, with a tired smile. She hated the sensation of eating and drinking without being able to taste what she was putting in her mouth, but the warmth of the broth and tea felt wonderful on her sore throat, and the toast, once dipped in the soup, was soft enough to swallow with no discomfort. She ate until her plates were empty, more to please Jack than to assuage any hunger, and then pushed her chair back and put a hand to her head. “You said something about aspirin?”

Two tablets, a glass of water, a quick trip to the lavatory, and then, blessedly, to bed. “Much as I hate to suggest it,” Phryne said, while Jack piled blankets on top of her, “you may want to sleep on your sofa tonight. The last thing we need is for you to catch my cold by snuggling up to it.”

He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Will you sleep better if I’m here with you?”

“Undoubtedly, but—”

“Then I’ll risk it. Sickness and health and all that.” Phryne rolled her eyes at his sentimentality, but couldn’t help smiling. “Besides, I gave you all the blankets I have in the house.” Jack stroked her hair gently, his eyes tender. “It’s silly,” he murmured, “but I hate seeing you like this.”

“That’s odd. I hate feeling like this.”

“Then we’re in agreement. Good.” Jack kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Sleep well, Phryne. I’ll join you in a bit.”

He switched off the bedroom lamp and closed the door quietly. When he was gone, Phryne burrowed down under the mountain of blankets, her arms wrapped around a pillow with Jack’s scent ingrained in its fibers. 

The soft sound of a piano drifted in from the living room, lulling her to sleep.


End file.
